


Panahedan Imekari

by ToPerceiveIsToBePerceptive



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: (a little), Adoribull - Freeform, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Role Reversal, mild sexual references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 12:07:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3767545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToPerceiveIsToBePerceptive/pseuds/ToPerceiveIsToBePerceptive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iron Bull doesn't get a letter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Panahedan Imekari

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I have no idea where this came from particularly when I am meant to be working on my stupid fluffy multi-chapter fic, but here we are.

The letter was blank.

Bull ran his thumb over the thick yellow paper again. He was standing next his bed, stock still, arms hanging at his sides, head bowed. He didn’t know how long he had been standing there. The letter had come into Skyhold that morning on one of Lelianna’s ravens. Bull had assumed it was going to be a prospective job for the Chargers or a message from one of his contacts. He no longer got Ben-Hasrath reports, but he still knew a few people who were happy to pass on any information that may be useful.

As soon as he had unfolded the letter and saw there wasn’t a splotch of ink on it, Bull knew exactly who it was from. The fact that the letter had been sent at all, in spite of the risks, was a message in itself.

It smelt like her.

From behind him, Bull heard Dorian enter the room. The door wasn’t even shut before the mage launched into one of his monologues.

‘Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to shift though all the books in that infernal library, only to discover none have a shred of useful information? Honestly. Sometimes it feels like I’m wading through porridge just to find something remotely connected to...’ Dorian’s voice trailed off. Bull hadn’t turned around.

‘Bull? Are you alright?’

Bull found his voice thicker than normal, harder to force up his throat. ‘Yeah. Fine.’ His back was still to Dorian. He heard his lover take a step in his direction and he couldn’t help but tense.

‘What’s in your hand?’ Dorian asked. His voice was low and kind and Bull wished it wasn’t. If Dorian had used any other inflection, he could have snapped at the mage to mind his own business.

‘A letter.’ said Bull. ‘It’s nothing.’

There was another tentative step behind him, and then Dorian stopped. It was like he was waiting on a sign to continue. The air in the room felt heavier than normal. Particles of dust caught the light that streamed from the hole in the roof.

‘It’s from my Tama.’ Bull said finally. Besides the noise of Dorian taking a quick, sharp breath through his nose, there was no other sound in the room.

‘It doesn’t say anything.’ Bull went on. ‘The paper is blank. Too dangerous to write a letter to her wayward Tal-Vashoth, you see. She shouldn’t have sent the thing at all. If the Ben-Hassrath found out…’

‘They won’t.’

This time Bull did snap at Dorian. ‘You can’t know that!’

‘The woman raised you, didn’t she? You may like to think all your intelligence and talent for espionage is a bi-product of genetics, but I would bet coin she had more than a hand in how you turned out.’

Bull laughed but it was empty. ‘You’d probably win.’

‘So enlighten me, with your astounding spy skills, Iron Bull. What is your Tama trying to tell you by not telling you anything?’ Dorian’s tone was completely at odds with the words he spoke. The words were flippant and humorous but his voice was quiet and tender.

Bull didn’t reply and for a moment Dorian thought he wasn’t going to. For a moment Bull was sure he could reply. But somehow the words found their way out.

‘Panahedan Imekari.’

‘I don’t know what that means.’

‘Goodbye child.’

It was the hand that came to rest gently between his shoulder blades that pushed Bull past the breaking point. His hand flew to cover his face, to hide his expression, even though Dorian hadn’t seen his face since he entered the room. He couldn’t stop the noise that broke out of him and he realised distantly it was a sob.

He hadn’t cried in years. He wasn’t sure if he remembered how.

Warm hands wrapped around Bull’s waist. They were strong and firm, in spite of the disparity between his size and the size of the man holding him. He felt Dorian’s lips press gently against his back before the mage rested his forehead in the same spot. Bull’s hand –the one not gripping the letter – left his face to grab onto one of Dorian’s and squeeze it tight. He would later wonder if he had hurt Dorian clutching his fingers so tightly, but Dorian hadn’t complained if it had.

‘Let it out, Amatus.’ Dorian whispers against his skin. ‘Let it out. I’m here.’

Bull couldn’t. He wanted to. So many emotions were pressing against his insides that he thought he was going to crack open. That sob had been it. He couldn’t make a sound.

He felt the arms around his mid-section begin to pull him gently towards the bed. Bull knew logically Dorian couldn’t shift him if he didn’t want to move and that he must have done the walking for himself, but in the moment it felt like Dorian was the one steering him. He felt a hand press against his shoulder and he sat slowly. He and Dorian were now technically facing each other, but Bull still hadn’t looked into his lover’s face. An irrational part of him told Bull to be ashamed, told him that Dorian loved him for his strength, and that when he looked up the mage would have mild disgust on his face for allowing himself to fall apart over a piece of empty paper.

Two firm hands cupped Bull under the jaw and lifted his face upwards to meet Dorian’s.

There was nothing but love there. Fierce and affectionate and real. Bull reached up and wrapped his fingers around one of Dorian’s wrists. He managed half a smile.

‘She would really like you, Dorian.’ Bull hated how he sounded like broken bits of pottery.

‘I think I would like her too.’ Dorian murmured and wiped a thumb over the scars on Bull’s left cheek. It was only then Bull became aware that tears were slowly leaking down his face from his one good eye. Dorian was wiping them away.

Absently, Bull thought that his Tama had never seen him with one eye. Her mental picture of him must be all wrong. Did she imaging him without scars or an eyepatch or with all his fingers? Did she always see him as that little boy with the stubs on his head, where his horns would eventually be? What did she look like now? When Bull was a child she had seemed old like all adults do. But looking back now, Bull realised she must have been a young woman when she’d raised him. Was she old now? Had the years altered her as drastically as they had him?

He would never know.

This abrupt thought jolted through him like electricity and he was powerless to stop himself from shaking. Dorian pulled away from Bull and the unexpected absence left Bull unsteady and confused. The word “abandoned” flickered in his mind.

But then Dorian was back with a bowl of water and a clean cloth. Bull watched as his lover placed the bowl on the bed beside him and ring out the soft white linen. Bull thought distantly that this was his job, he was the one who took care of Dorian after long hot nights, when walls were broken down and limits tested. Something lodged in his throat and Bull moved to take the wet piece of fabric from Dorian’s hands.

Dorian’s eyes locked on Bull’s and his hand tightened on the cloth.

‘No.’

‘Dorian-’

‘ _No._ ’ he repeated firmly, ‘It won’t kill you to let someone look after you for once in you damned life, Bull.’

Bull swallowed around the throat-lump and let his hand drop. The mage nudged Bull’s knee with his own and Bull opened them wide enough for Dorian to stand between them. Dorian’s hand rested on the side of his neck stroking his thumb along Bull’s artery. The other pressed the cloth against Bull’s cheek and began to wipe away the tear streaks on his face. Bull let his eye fall shut as Dorian, worked, the fabric cool and soothing. He was still shaking and he couldn’t stop the tears from flowing in a silent steady leak, but his breathing was becoming slower and less harsh, moving in rhythm with Dorian’s own.

Bull couldn’t focus on what Dorian was saying but he knew the words were soft and comforting. Bull reach out his hands and lay them on Dorian's waist, just for the reassurance he was there. He realised he still had the letter balled up in one fist.

He would let go of it. Eventually.

‘I’m sorry, Kadan.’ fell out of Bull’s mouth.

‘Don’t you dare be sorry.’ Dorian sounded both sharp and reassuring. He tossed the cloth back into the basin and rested his forehead against Bull’s, wrapping his arms around his neck. ‘This is what we do for those we love, Iron Bull. And you are loved. You have how no idea how much you are loved.’

**Author's Note:**

> Bull's translation is a bit of a simplification. Panahedan is used as goodbye, but in Qunlat it literally means "Take Refuge in Safety".


End file.
